


Emerald and Stone

by beautifullyheeled



Series: Worlds Apart [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Romance, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4210989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/pseuds/beautifullyheeled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sh’loc slowly went through the intricate moves. The drumbeats the only thing filling his senses in the main space of their living quarters. He’d been off balance since Thanksgiving and needed to re-center. John said he would be gone most of the day shopping for Christmas, so this should have been the perfect time. Moving his arms and hands with purpose, his feet knowing this ancient art, he trusted his body to move as it must as he cleared his mind and worked ever inward...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emerald and Stone

Sh’loc slowly went through the intricate moves. The drumbeats the only thing filling his senses in the main space of their living quarters. He’d been off balance since Thanksgiving and needed to re-center. John said he would be gone most of the day shopping for Christmas, so this should have been the perfect time. Moving his arms and hands with purpose, his feet knowing this ancient art, he trusted his body to move as it must as he cleared his mind and worked ever inward. He no longer felt the sweat on his brow, or the stick of his curls against his neck. The sheen across his chest and arms the cost of physical mastery and exertion. 

As the drums ceased and the single flute began, Sh’loc himself started pulling himself out of the meditative trance that the forms had brought to him. He felt much more centered. Better aligned and in understanding of his feelings towards his friend. It no longer troubled him, that what he possessed for John ran very deep. So deep in fact, he had almost not registered it. What a shame that would have been. As Sh’loc became more aware, he realised he was not alone, but the feel of the air was familiar. 

_John._

Sh’loc finished with his closing pose and opened his eyes to look upon John just as the music faded, a small up turn to his lips in seeing him there. Watching.

“John. Back early.” He moved to the pushed aside chair and grabbed the towel and wiped off before quickly drinking down the water he had laid out for himself. “Was shopping for the upcoming holiday not to your liking?”

“That. Was amazing.” 

Not the answer Sh’loc was expecting.

_Oh._

“You mean the forms I was working through? I only did the primary ones as it would be unsafe for me to take to the air or use some of the more punctuated moves in this space.”

“Are you allowed- I mean, I would understand if it was something only Vulcans learned but, it was so beautiful. Deadly too I bet.”

“Just so, as far as lethality. As to training, I have mastered all but one level and would be able to, with formal petition, take on one student. Possibly call it an exchange of ideals?”

“Oh, that would be brilliant.”

Sh’loc flicked on the kettle behind him and sat on the floor, practically boneless. “Tell me, John. How do you feel about this break coming up? Do you feel like travel this time?” 

“Where would the travel be to?” John’s eyes had that serious look about them. Interesting.

“221 Baker. My home in London, if you like. I do need to go there at some point, and I’ve grown accustomed to having you... around.”

“Having me... around? Christmas in London? Really?”

“I did just say, John. Are you feeling well?” He wondered if it might have been too much to ask. No, he had calculated, and it was correct of him to ask. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” John caught his breath, then exhaled before standing and walking past Sh’loc to pour their tea. Sh’loc did not miss the warmth of John’s gaze on his body. “I’d love to... spend the holiday with you, though over there it’s Boxing Day... well and Christmas too... and Christmas eve if you are religious but you aren’t so-”

“Are you?”

“Raised to understand other world’s customs, but no, I do not practice any religion. Though we will have to have a reading about Saint Nicholas on Christmas eve, maybe some eggnog and peppermint bark.”

“Bark? Is it like cinnamon?” This piqued Sh’loc’s interest.

“No, no, it’s a sweet. One of my favourites really. Well from here.” 

“Then we shall have to procure some after we’ve settled in the house.” Sh’loc felt the warmth rise again within him as pride in being able to make John smile washed over him. “I shall shower and we will make ready within the hour. Our transport will be any time this evening between 1700 and 1900 hours. Anything you wish to mail, we can do so there or once we are in London.”

Sh’loc left the room; he could feel John’s eyes follow him almost to the ensuite door. It touched him emotionally in ways he’d not been previously. The warmth filled him and his pulse quickened at thoughts that involved his lips and John’s form coalesced into images- he had to take his time. He would ask John’s permission to court him if John seemed to welcome it. Which his gaze had given Sh’loc information, as did the meditation on his own mind, he did not want to be rash and give into the emotional side. It was a deep swift current that one could easily get swept into if not vigilant. It would not do, not until John agreed.

~

John packed them both, as he knew Sherlock would just have him do it anyway, and settled their bags at the door before working on putting the main room back to some order before they left. Their beds and sleeping quarters were already neat, so he wouldn’t have to worry about that. Sherlock actually was generally a very clean person other than he’d forget his mugs or PADDs and so John would tidy them. He had made sure to pack them both a few PADDs and his paper journal as well. There was just something about paper and ink. He couldn’t satisfactorily explain it, the fulfillment he received from writing this way, the ink dotting his skin at times. Other times, charcoal rubbed against his hand from sketching leaving its dark mark from the exterior of his smallest finger to the beginnings of his wrist. It just felt right, these things at his disposal. 

He could hear Sherlock dressing and called out they should get a bit of a move on as that grouping was the last for the day and if they needed provisions that they’d need to certainly be in London at a decent hour. He couldn’t wait to see this place. Sherlock began explaining that it was by Regent’s Park and the old tube stations. That it was an old Victorian that had been restored, so it had four floors and a smaller basement turned lab as well. John could not believe that Sherlock actually owned it outright. 

“The perks of your family wanting you to be safe, I suppose, although it will be worth having I suppose.”

“It’ll be worth- yes, Sherlock it is worth having. It sounds marvelous.”

“We shall see.”

A trip to the mass transporter with all their gear and a few moments later they were at the Starfleet Embassy in London. After scanning their bracelets in, they took the old subway system to Baker Street. It was marvelous. Sherlock was full of information about the system, which parts still were running, the history. All he could do was say brilliant and amazing or ask questions to broaden his own understanding of the cultural significance. It was true he was raised in his later years in Glasgow, but they’d never made the trip to London. His mother was very happy to hear of him going and he told Sherlock as much. The young man just quietly smiled.

221 Baker was a tall thinish Victorian lady. The exterior was painted in a way that would show off her character, much like the row houses that still existed in San Francisco. The coordinating scheme though was interesting. Each home painted in a variation of colours that on their own seemed to blend, but taken individually, John realised that they were done in a lighter followed bydarker pattern. Sherlock’s was darker, which was unsurprising, jewel tones. Deep still, aubergine, charcoal, the darkest teal John had ever seen. He took in the whole area now, not just the houses; it seemed to all be historically retrofitted. Iron fences around trees. Lovely box hedgerows hiding the uplighting for the cellars. Oh, he’d love his evening runs here. If it didn’t snow. Maybe he’d convince Sherlock to take walks instead. He didn’t want to be too sedentary and have hell to pay in two weeks when they returned back to the Academy. John was certain it would be very bad for them to just laze about, but when had he really known Sherlock to do so. 

A woman, one he assumed to be the old nanny, had come out to hang a large evergreen wreath with a acid green bow as it’s only ornamentation. Somehow, it fit with the feel of the place. Sherlock walked up to the woman and gave her a hug, which surprised John. He knew Sherlock was not one for physical displays, but it warmed him to see the Vulcan being familiar with someone. John stepped up the last few treads and waited as Sherlock pulled back and then introduced him. Mrs. Hudson took him in a warm hug as well and began guiding him through the entry and shooed them up to the first floor to get settled in the parlor for tea. 

“Oh, fire? Nice.” John placed their bags down in the hall and looked around. “This, well, it seems like you?”  
The room itself kept with the victorian theme, including what seemed to be gaslights. A mishmash of bohemian half-worn velvet and glass fronted bookcases that held what seemed to be a motley assortment of on and off world curios among the books and other oddities. “Is that a... skull?”

“Very good, John. Yes, it was a present from an archaeological dig... oh, after First Contact. My family was one of the delegation that first spent time here.” 

“Really?” He looked happily surprised. “So... are you... royalty of some sort back off-world?”

“Not relevant, as my genetic makeup is not completely agreeable.”

John blinked at this information that was so easily stated. How was it possible that Sherlock would not be welcomed? Yes, his abrasiveness could be off putting, but it was not malicious. It was just Vulcan. The non-touching and swift statement of fact was ingrained. Maybe he understood, being partially empathic himself, how it could feel to have someone else’s emotions tangle within you. John had to keep everything firmly tamped down while at the Academy, and he knew he would. What would it be like though to never be touched? Not even incidentally?

“Oh,” Is what came out of John’s mouth. “Um, I’ll make us some of your tea, then?”

“John, it is fine that I am not bound by the rules of the hierarchy that my family belongs. I am a second son, and the Gods must have found a moment of wisdom when it was done. Please, it is fine.”

“Ah, yes, it did allow you to come to Starfleet.” John ignored the pull at his stomach of emotions, though faint, were not his. 

“Indeed, John. Now I do believe you mentioned tea.”

He exhaled and smiled a little to himself as he made his way into the kitchen and the old fashioned hob under the window. John busied himself with the task and set them up a proper tea while Sherlock meditated quietly in the parlor. 

“My grandfather served, as a doctor. Head of the medical personnel on the Mayflower after... well after. He was originally on the Enterprise. Green to the gills.”

“I am certain that he served admirably in the face of a formidable foe. Everyone that day did.” 

Sherlock closed his incense holder and gracefully got to his feet, joining John in one of the low comfortable chairs close to the fire. He picked up his cup and sipped, giving John the small quip of a smile. They shared the comfortable silence, punctuated only by softer words or an agreeable noise in answer, and ate the small meal John had prepared for them both.


End file.
